


Trying To Say What I Can't Be Saying (I'll Be Here)

by revenblue



Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same (Perryshmirtz) [131]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Kissing, M/M, POV Second Person, Perry talks because I say so, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue
Summary: "Of course, you know what a fuse is. It's a long piece of cord, impregnated with gunpowder. When you strike a match and light it, it burns, fitfully, sputteringly to its end... at which there is a little surprise."
Relationships: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus
Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same (Perryshmirtz) [131]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/746841
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Trying To Say What I Can't Be Saying (I'll Be Here)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fuse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313214) by [furryfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furryfish/pseuds/furryfish). 



> My 200th PNF fic on this account, and I had to celebrate with a rewrite of the one fic I had to yeet over to an alt earlier this year. Now with a more typical title, pov, and Perry.

Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated. An intimidating name, at first. Shame the rest of it hadn't held up. Your nemesis needs to work on his reputation.

Glancing up at the door, you sigh, picking at the new suit you're wearing, whether you want to or not. One of Major Monogram's ideas for extra _class_. Apparently he thinks it won't affect your movement, even though it _catches_ on everything. You have no idea how humans stand it.

The lock's easy enough to pick, as always. Like he does it deliberately. As soon as you walk in, you're hanging by the ankle. Again. Definitely deliberate, then. If there's one thing you can count on your nemesis for, it's the traps.

Heinz, that lovable idiot Heinz, looks up at you from his armchair. "Ah, Perry the Platypus, if you could just _hang around_ while I get my _inator_ ready..." Which he does, laughing at his own joke all the while.

Second thing you can count on him for: the puns. He always _acts_ like they're spur of the moment, but you've caught him practising.

Rolling your eyes, you pull your trusty pocket knife from your hat, reaching up to saw at the rope. "You know your puns just make me hate you more, right?" you mutter under your breath, in platypus.

"I know _that_ ," he says like he understands platypus, which you wouldn't put past him, then gestures to the tv in front of him. "Anyway! You'll never believe it! Brittany and Dylan, you know, from that one soap opera _you_ got me into, you remember _that_ , right? Well, they're _fighting_! Why can't they just admit they _like_ each other?"

He's one to talk. You've known about his _feelings_ for you for a while now, and he's never acted on them, not that you have any idea _why_. You haven't asked. Mostly because you refuse to mix business and pleasure, as much as you can when your _nemesis_ is involved.

Maybe, if you were more of a professional, you wouldn't have developed _feelings_ of your own.

The rope snaps under your knife and you grab the other end of it in your free paw, letting your legs and tail dangle below you. Can't go around snapping your neck in a bad fall. After a moment, to let your head clear, you drop to the floor, with more noise than you'd prefer.

But this is Heinz. You and him have an _understanding_. If he notices your lapses in professionalism, he's too polite to say so.

He doesn't turn around as you come up behind him, either, too intent on his _show_ to hear your footsteps. Even better. Completely ignorant of his surroundings, this man. You can work with that.

"So, Doctor D, what have you got for me today?" you say, leaning against the side of his armchair.

Jumping out of his seat, he whirls around, shoving at your shoulders in mock offence. "Don't _scare_ me like that, Perry the Platypus! If you _must_ know, it's a Romantic Tension Resolve-inator. I had a whole _monologue_ planned, too, but you just _had_ to _ruin_ it. I hope you're _happy_."

Oh, you're _happy_ alright. From this angle he almost looks _imposing_... almost. Maybe a bit too much slouch. Then again, you like his slouch, makes it easier to reach his hand.

You raise an eyebrow anyway. No point _telling_ him, he'd crow about it for _weeks_.

"What, do you _want_ the monologue? Not sick of the sound of my _voice_ yet? Because _I_ am, I have to listen to it _all day_ , and _just where do you think you're going?_ "

To destroy his inator, where else?

He stares, aghast, as you turn back and tip your hat. What good's a nemesis you can't taunt? That's what nemesisship is all about: _challenging_ each other. After a moment, he finds his brain and runs at you, fists swinging.

The first is easy to dodge. The second, you catch, using his momentum to throw him across the floor. There is no third.

It won't keep him down for long, you've fought him often enough to know _that_ much, so you follow the path of chaos. Or rather, the path of _less_ chaos, scrap gathered up in his wake.

Just as he's getting up again, shaking off the dust and shattered parts, you jump on his narrow shoulders. It's the work of moments to tug his arms back, causing him to overbalance. He topples to the floor. "Ready to give up?" you murmur in his ear, digging one knee in.

He chuckles, face pressed into the dust. "It's been warming up the whole time, you know."

Shit.

Dropping him, you turn your attention to the inator all the way over on the other side of the lab, rising to your feet. You can't let it fire. Where's the button, where's the button, there's got to be a button if you just _look_ -

There. A flash of bright red.

Third thing you can count on him for: putting a self-destruct button on everything. And you do mean _everything_.

Not that it helps when you're still halfway across the room and it's broadcasting a growing wave of green light from the central antenna. Of course he didn't bother making it _targeted_.

"Shit," you mutter, increasing your pace. If you're lucky, you can reach it before it's too big to stop. If not... if the effect spreads to the city, you're screwed. No. Deep breaths, Perry. You can do this. For the good of the Tri-State Area. Just a little further-

So of course that's when Heinz takes your legs out from under you. Stubborn prick.

He wraps himself around your knees like the world's clingiest octopus, refusing to let go. "Hah, I've _got_ you," he mumbles.

Pulling one leg free, you kick at him. "Get _off_." Preferably before you have to abandon your trousers. You've done it before, you'd do it again, but you'd prefer to keep that little bit of dignity.

Damn it. You've been spending too much time around humans, to be worried about a thing like _that_.

You just don't want it tangled around your ankles while you fight, you remind yourself, shoving your foot against his face. Getting trapped by the clothing you never wanted to wear in the first place is _not_ your idea of a good time.

Thankfully, it doesn't come to that. You manage to pry him loose, sacrificing a shoe in the process, and run. Like the princess in one of those stories _Candace_ used to like.

Which, fine. If he wants your shoe, he can have it. All _you_ need to do is hit the self-destruct button and you win. That's it. He won't make it easy, but then again he never does. Not that that's ever stopped you before.

A hard object cracks against your skull and you stumble, swearing under your breath. Damn it. Damn _him_. Regaining your balance, you spare a glance back, as he runs past a pale orange object. Your shoe. The little shit threw your own _shoe_ at you to slow you down.

Joke's on him, you're still faster.

So he throws _another_ shoe, his own this time, just missing your head. Too close. And costing you enough time for him to catch up, tackling you to the ground, _again_. His elbow sinks into your kidney, heavy enough despite his thin frame to remind you it's all muscle. And titanium. Mostly the titanium, you're pretty sure.

"Just don't know when to stop, do you?" you growl, and jab backwards with your own elbow, hard enough to break his grip. Not enough to escape, but enough to roll onto your back for some leverage of your own. Like a foot to the crotch.

_That_ gives you the freedom to roll you both over, so you're perched on his chest, staring down at his tight expression. All's fair in love and thwarting.

His face has an odd sort of handsomeness to it, now that you look, one that's only enhanced by the pockmarks and bags under his eyes and wrinkles of a life well lived. Here's a man who always gives it his all, no matter what. Your _nemesis_. Sweat plasters strands of hair to his clammy forehead and you brush it away, threading your fingers through.

"Perry the Platypus?" he breathes, your name on his bitten lips.

Pressing yours to them _might_ be a mistake, a voice in the back of your mind suggests, when it's too late to stop yourself. Damn it.

You pull back, ready to apologise, only for him to grab your shirt and haul you back in. At least this clothing is useful for _something_. The kiss this time is rougher, more like your fights, a whirl of teeth and tongues and the promise of victory.

Tangling his fingers in your fur, he dislodges your habitual fedora, sending it tumbling to the floor beside your as he nips and licks at your bill, swallowing your protests. "You like that?" he mumbles, incorrigible as always. Crossing his long legs across your tail, he _traps_ you so you can't escape, and damn if it doesn't feel _nice_.

Damn if you're going to let him _win_ , either. Tugging at his hair, you pull his head back, giving you the space to suck a bruise onto his neck. From here, you can taste the sweat on your skin, feel his quiet whimpers against your lips, watch him fall apart in your paws.

Then, when he's well and truly distracted, you yank off the other shoe and hurl it at the self-destruct button. It's not like you needed it for anything else.

"Curse you, Heinz Doofenshmirtz," you chirr softly against his lips as everything explodes around you both, the green light sucking back into a single point. It doesn't even matter if he understands you, just so long as you get to _say_ it. Before he does.

How long have you wanted to? Longer than you care to admit, and that's his victory. His inator _worked_. You may have thwarted his scheme, but you'd already lost.

He blinks, clearly dazed. "You-"

Then you kiss him again, slower this time, savouring the feeling. You figure you've earned this.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, and also my familiarity with the summary, still from [Fuse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRf0VZtuFQY) by Linkin Park, which for some reason _didn't_ get an official (re)release a week and a half ago unlike the rest of the tracks it originally came bundled with. (Well, mostly; one of them's _partially_ unreleased.) I mean, why change a perfectly serviceable title source for a rewrite?
> 
> Had to get this milestone up before Perryshmirtz Week starts (in a couple days), haha.
> 
> So yeah. 200th PNF fic, except technically it's the 201st because I have one on an alt, except it's a rewrite so it doesn't count. Especially since the original's in the shame corner aka my alt. I had regrets a while after posting, and that was the easiest solution... and now I don't regret this any more. This version, anyway. ~~The other version's staying in the shame corner so it can feel bad.~~


End file.
